


Reinvent Love

by InASocialScene (Ophelia_Blue)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Music, Musicians, Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 08:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Blue/pseuds/InASocialScene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon's POV.<br/>Post-split. </p><p>When they parted ways Brendon and Ryan never thought they'd see each other again. They'd wanted it that way. They exchanged no numbers, emails or addresses.<br/>But fate has plans of it's own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will mention current and ex members, girlfriends etc.

I'd been sipping on the same pint of beer for the last two hours. Some Australian make, I wasn't sure, but it seemed quite popular with the other Londoners around me. I guess id just followed their example when I walked into the air-conditioned bar in the middle of a hot summer afternoon outside Hyde Park Corner. I still wasn't sure what I was doing here. Spencer had called half an hour ago to let me know he was running late for our meeting. A meeting about what? He still hadn't told me. I considered leaving now, sneaking away like I had something to hide, which I guess I did. Our band had made it big a few years back and now avoiding fans was becoming such a hassle. At first it was fun, I loved knowing how much people enjoyed our music, but it soon stopped being about the music. They all wanted to know the answer to the same stupid question. A question that I've avoided in all interviews and still troubles me to this day. They have an answer, the one I conjured up like a mathematician with the answer that solves the equation. The only answer they'll ever hear leave my lips. Musical differences. It's vague, I'll be the first to admit that, and true to an extent. Can't they just be happy with that?

I sit here invisible. Glass in hand and a grey beanie hat pulled down over my hair and ears whilst a large pair of black Raebans obscure the rest of my face. I don't even feel like myself anymore. More like a puppet in a costume being kept in a dark box until showtimes and then made to dance for an audience. It's not about the music anymore and it hasn't been for a while. I gaze down at my glass and finish the last few drops, splashing some down my chin and onto my red and white checkered shirt. I grimace, rubbing an already grimy sleeve over my mouth. I need to change clothes as I've been wearing the same outfit for two days since the airport lost my luggage. They said they'd ring when they found it but still no luck. Spencer still hadn't arrived and I'd noticed a small thrift store around the corner earlier. They'd probably have some cheap clothes to keep me going for now I guessed rising to my feet and brushing down the front of the shirt with a quick wave. The store was further away than I remembered and I was considering giving up the search when I spotted the small shoP nestled between two larger buildings. One was a computer electronics store whilst the other was selling instruments lining the window. I paused, forgetting for a second why I came here in the first place. I bit my lip and hurried in to the thrift store, coming out a few seconds later with two shirts and a pair of jeans in a bag. I wished for a moment that I could have phoned our manager, she'd have had new clothes at my hotel within hours, but we'd purposely come to London for a vacation. Somewhere away from all the managers, producers and record companies. We hadn't told them where we were going. Only that we were leaving for two weeks and we'd see them all after that. The four of us had boarded the plane later that evening, escaping the disgruntled faces of our so-called friends. Me, Dallon and Spencer had visited London before whilst it was Ian's first trip. I liked the place. To an extent it was busy and alive, whilst having those quiet parks you could lounge about in without being disturbed. It had the same appeal as New York, just further from home with less people. The faint sound of The Smiths drifted out the door of the music store distracting me once more from the fact that Spencer was probably sitting at the pub angrily awaiting my return. I glanced in it's direction before giving in to my desires and heading in to the shop. It was small and at first I thought it was empty but then I caught sight of a man behind the counter deeply buried in a news Paper story. I turned away from him to face the instruments plucking the occasional string and running my fingers over the frets. "How much is this one?" I asked, turning back to face the man behind the counter. He glanced up, eyeing the guitar then looking up to my face. He sighed and pressed a button on the counter. "Give me a second, man" he said, hitting the button a few more times vigourously. "Steve, I'm coming alright!" called a voice from a stairwell I'd only just noticed. I stopped moving. Or more precisely the world slowed down, leaving that voice ringing in my ears. Each note it hit with each syllable stung me. I knew then I couldn't stay. Knew that somewhere something in the world had gone wrong and I was about to pay for it. I don't think I've spun around so fast in my life, launching myself at the door and into the afternoon sun with only the faint memory of a flowery shirt beneath a grey waistcoat and dark brown curls flattened by a canvas hat to explain why I was shaking so vigourously now. It took me a good few minutes to stop breathing like I had just run a marathon, and for my face to change back to it's normal pale pink colour. I reached the pub to find Spencer, Dallon and Ian sitting at a table deep in discussion over whether or not the sun could ever be shot from the sky. In a metaphorical sense they assured me. I never understood those deep discussions they had. I joined them at their table and looked to Spencer as encouragement to start his meeting. He met my gaze and mouthed 'you alright?' I nodded, forcing a grin and trying to push that surprised face from my mind. The image would not leave for long though, a constant reminder of how close we suddenly were. Once again he was ruining my life. Once more. But fuck it, I'd forget him again soon enough. He's nothing to me anymore, so yeah, fuck it. Fuck Ryan Ross. 


	2. Pills offset the shakes

Everyone handles the same situation differently. Take Spencer for example - when the band split he spent the next few months discussing our future with friends, various producers and our manager. He single-handedly searched out two replacement members for touring and prepared all the relevant paperwork to start creating our new album.  
Me on the other hand?  
I zoned out. I shut down, my body an empty shell with vacant eyes as Spencer once told me. I stopped caring, stopped feeling and stopped talking or even listening to the world around me. I guess I was dead to the outside world. It took many months of distractions and various medications until I was ready to face the world again. Spencer was patient and with Dallon's lighthearted jokes and Ian's optimistic attitude I guess I pulled through. I made it. I'm still alive. 

I tip the last pill down by throat before setting the bottle back on it's shelf and taking a quick sip of water. Anti-depressants. One of the few things I still rely on to function like a normal human being. I was recovering, I was starting to cope on my own and he went and fucking ruined it. I remember vividly those cold nights on his porch, our arms tucked around each others waists as we talked and talked until the sun rose. I remember unexpected visits and a short boy on my doorstep at 4 in the morning. I remember a mischievous grin and his fingers interlocked in the dark curls of my hair at the nape of my neck. And I remember awkward glances between eyes and lips as our skin touched for the first time, warm, sweet and new. I remember it all, and once more my brain can't cope with the lost. Can't cope with the change and cannot comprehend that he's no longer the boy I used to know.  
I feel like taking a few more pills down my throat, but the last thing I need is to cause anymore drama during this meeting by overdosing. Spencer's band meeting was still on hold when I returned from the toilets. After all the time I'd taken I'd half assumed they would have continued without me.


End file.
